


a better life

by onlyeverthus



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 16:45:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5935579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyeverthus/pseuds/onlyeverthus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's offering her a better life, but she's not sure if it's really what she wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a better life

**Author's Note:**

> The rape/non-con warning is for an attempt, not an actual follow-through. (Also keeping the prompt picture, because it's still one of my favorite pictures ever.)

"Oi, Rose, the new financier is here." Her mother bustled into the room, hissing at her like an angry cat. "And you're not even dressed yet, what will he think?"

"If he's here to see me, he ought to think he's come a bit early," Rose replied, watching as her mother scurried around the room, throwing clothing everywhere. "Besides, I've got half of it on."

"You'll need the other half or he'll never think you're a ballerina." She scowled at the cigarette between Rose's fingers. "A lady you're not."

Jacqueline pulled Rose's tutu from her wardrobe and approached her daughter. "Up, up, come now."

Rose sighed and stood, shedding her robe and stepping into the pink tutu, standing still as her mother laced it around her waist.

"There we are, now you look like a proper ballerina," Jacqueline said, standing back and giving Rose a critical eye. "Slippers on now."

Rose sat and slid her foot into a slipper, pulling the ribbons up in preparation for wrapping them around her ankle when there was a knock at the door.

"Oh, he's here," Jacqueline said, flustered.

Rose watched out of the corner of her eye as her mother patted her hair in the mirror and then hurried over to the door. She hid her smile as she dipped her head to concentrate on tying her ribbons.

Her mother swung open the door and greeted the man, dropping into a ridiculous curtsy. Rose closed her eyes briefly, embarrassed for her mother, before concentrating on lacing up her other slipper.

"Rose," her mother said pointedly.

Rose stood, brushing her tutu before looking up at the man. She found herself quite struck by him. His features seemed remarkably somber until he smiled at her, and then his brown eyes sparkled, the curve of his thin lips hinting at secrets hidden somewhere in the depths of his heart.

"Mademoiselle," he said, taking Rose's outstretched hand into his own and raising it to his lips.

Rose gave a polite incline of her head and Jacqueline edged over to the door, giving Rose a pointed look over the new financier's shoulder before she left, shutting the door behind her.

"Monsieur Smith," Rose said, sinking back onto her bench.

"Please, call me John," he said, visibly relaxing now that it was just the two of them.

"John Smith? How entirely English," Rose said, one corner of her mouth raised in a smirk.

"Your voice suggests the same," he said, standing with his hands behind his back. "Here I thought you were French."

"Easy to assume. Mother and I have worked hard to maintain this life."

"Two English women pretending to be French? What sort of life is that?"

"The sort where we remain alive. Surely you know how the English are treated in France. Surprised to see you're quite well, considering."

"I've learned my way around." He paused, rocking back momentarily on his heels. "Might I inquire after a seat?"

"Of course." Rose stood, walking flat-footed in her slippers to clear a spot on the lounge.

"Your outfit seems quite modern," John observed as he sat.

"I've never particularly been one for tradition," Rose said, turning to the mirror and checking her face in the reflection. "Mother and I will do anything to bring people in. If it means a shorter tutu, a hint of scandal, so be it." She turned towards John, regarding him curiously. "You're financing our little ballet. How come?"

"You're a very promising dancer. You're not quite as tall as some of the other ballerinas I've seen, but you're very graceful. I think with the right sort of exposure, you could go very far."

"Do you?" Rose laughed. "Do you think I'm not happy here?"

"I have no way of knowing. But if you don't want my money-"

Rose held up a finger. "Do not mistake me. Mother and I are very grateful for your contribution, I just don't want you to get the wrong idea about me. I'm quite happy where I am. I just want to be clear with you."

John inclined his head. "Of course." He stood, straightening his the jacket of his subtly striped suit.

"Speaking of modern clothing, you're quite unusual. Such a simple suit and no hat. Don't think I've ever seen a man without a hat."

John waved his hand. "I've never had much patience for all those bits and bobs. I'm a simple sort of man. And you miss the world going by watching from under the brim of a hat."

Rose smiled, bemused, as he bowed his head at her. "I look forward to tonight's performance."

She watched him go, deciding he was a rather strange man but a good man nonetheless, and turned back to her mirror, checking herself once more before she had to go out to the stage.

She felt his eyes on her as she danced that night and his gaze thrilled her, spurring her to dance her best, wanting to impress him, to make him really take notice of her.

Notice her he did. The mysterious Englishman invested thousands of francs into their little theater, buying them a new curtain, new stage lights, even new seats. What seemed like miles of new fabric was purchased for new outfits for the dancers and they shone like jewels under the new lights as they leapt and twirled across the stage. More and more patrons came for each performance and the curtain often came down to thunderous applause.

The best part of it all was the time Rose spent with John Smith in her dressing room before each show, drinking tea and listening to him go on about all the improvements he wanted to make to their theater and how she could one day go on to dance all over Europe. She indulged him this fantasy, content to let him dream these dreams for her, even though she could never see herself leaving this theater.

One night before her performance Rose arrived in her dressing room to see a large box waiting for her on the bench of her dressing table. She frowned and lifted the lid from the box, gasping at what she saw inside.

"What've you got there?" Jacqueline asked, coming into the room.

Rose didn't reply, just pulled the pristine white corset from the box and held it up in front of her. She ran a finger over the delicate stitching on the bodice, awed by the way it shimmered as it moved in the light.

Jacqueline was rendered quite speechless, no small feat, as she stared at the garment in Rose's hands.

"Monsieur Smith?" she breathed, reaching a tentative hand up as though afraid to touch it.

"Has to be. Oh, Mother, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Can you dance in it?"

"I think so, help me put it on."

Rose pulled her robe off and pressed the corset against her torso, taking in a breath as Jacqueline pulled it tight, gripping the edge of her dressing table as her mother tugged the laces, finally tying a small bow at her lower back.

"How does it feel?" Jacqueline asked, anxiously watching Rose's face in the mirror.

"Fantastic," Rose murmured. Jacqueline beamed and pulled the tutu from the box, so white it nearly glowed. Rose stepped into it and Jacqueline tied it around her waist, making sure it was secure before stepping back.

"Give us a spin," Jacqueline said and Rose turned, knowing how she sparkled in the candlelight and unable to keep the grin off her face.

"Have a seat and I'll lace the slippers, he's thought of everything, that man. Even had them broken in for you!"

Rose sat on the bench and watched her mother slide the new white slippers onto her feet, twisting the ribbons around her ankles.

"There we are." Jacqueline rocked back on her heels and sighed. "Oh, darling, I've never seen you look so beautiful."

Rose stood and turned to look at her reflection again, fingering the delicate designs and lightly skimming her fingers over the tulle of her tutu, which also seemed to shimmer.

"I feel like a princess," she murmured, her lips curving into a smile.

"The audience will certainly love you tonight. Come on then."

The theater filled with whispering the moment Rose took the stage and she beamed, feeling more glamorous than she had ever felt in her life. She glanced over at John's usual seat and was dismayed to find it empty. He'd given her this beautiful costume and wasn't even here to see her dance in it. Nevertheless she danced better than she ever had before, wanting her movement to match the beauty of her new outfit, wanting him to be proud of her even though he wasn't there.

The applause was deafening as the curtain closed on Rose and her fellow dancers clustered around her, marveling at the stunning new costume.

Rose didn't get back to her dressing room until the theater had cleared out and most of the girls gone home to their beds. She sat in front of her mirror, admiring the way the bodice shone, reluctant to take it off just yet.

She had just resigned herself to the fact that she couldn't very well sleep in it when the door opened slowly and John took a step in. Rose watched him walk in and close the door softly behind him.

"You weren't there tonight," Rose said quietly, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice.

"On the contrary," he replied. "I saw every step."

"You did?" Rose's heart lightened, her lips lifting into a smile.

"You were beautiful."

"Thanks to you. I've never seen anything this gorgeous before."

"I might say the same thing." His hands caressed the bare skin of her shoulders and she shivered under his touch, a warm feeling spreading at her core. Their eyes met in the mirror, his questioning, hers assenting, and he bent, his lips lightly brushing the back of her neck. He pulled a chair over to sit behind her and she felt his fingers at the small of her back, carefully untying the bow there. He unlaced her corset slowly, deliberately, his fingers skimming every inch of bare flesh that was revealed to him. Rose trembled with anticipation as the corset grew looser and looser before he finally pulled it off, her naked torso on display. He kissed her shoulder blades, his hands gently stroking her waist, his fingers dipping beneath the band of her tutu.

Rose sighed, feeling quite light-headed, and leaned back against him. His lips moved to her neck, his hands sliding up her body, tickling her ribs. She laughed breathlessly and felt his lips form a smile against her shoulder.

His hands found her breasts, his fingers grazing her nipples and she gasped, her eyes closing as she pressed against him. His hand moved up to her jaw and he turned her face towards him. She opened her eyes and savored this view of him, so close she could see the freckles scattered over his nose and cheeks, the lines at the corners of his eyes that crinkled when he smiled, see each one of his feathery eyelashes. She smiled and closed her eyes as her lips touched his, meeting in a kiss that once again sent shivers down her spine. His other hand rose to her hair, pulling the pins out and allowing it tumble to her shoulders, shining like golden fire in the dancing candlelight. She turned her body to him now, wanting to touch him, to hold him in her arms and discover his lines the way he had discovered hers.

The lounge wasn't far away and they tumbled onto it, his fingers tangling in her hair as they kissed, her hands touching the smoothness of his chest, his hands pulling her tutu and tights free, taking away the last of her modesty and laying her bare before him. She felt shy now, watching the way his eyes skimmed over her body before he smiled and declared her even more beautiful this way.

His lips found hers again and he positioned himself above her, sliding easily inside with her hands on his hips to guide him. She gripped him tightly as he moved within her, wondering dimly how she could possibly deserve someone so lovely, so beautiful. How he could possibly want someone like her, a girl hardly worth anything more than one living in the streets.

She gasped with her climax, her head falling back against the many pillows behind her. He kissed her exposed neck as she shuddered beneath him, her legs tightening around his waist, holding him closer. She raised her mouth to his, wanting to taste him again, and when his own moment arrived he pulled her close, burying his face in her neck, his teeth just scraping her skin as he breathed against her.

The room was silent save for their breathing and after a moment he moved over beside her, their legs tangled together on this makeshift bed covered with silk scarves and flimsy dressing gowns.

Her fingers moved absently in his hair as he lay with his head near her waist, his fingers tracing designs on her stomach, intricate lines and circles that piqued her curiosity, though she asked no questions.

"Have you traveled before, Rose?" he asked, his eyes intent on the movements his fingers were making.

"Just here from London."

"Would you like to?" His hand lay flat on her stomach and he looked up at her, his eyes searching her face.

"Travel? Where?" She smiled, confused.

"Wherever. You and I, we could go wherever the wind takes us. Lay out at night and look up at the stars. Have you ever really seen the stars?"

Rose laughed. "No, I haven't. But I couldn't just go off somewhere. Leave my mother to worry, leave the theater."

"We'd go anywhere you wanted."

She smiled at him, pitying him a little. "You've got your head in the clouds, Monsieur Smith. Maybe you can afford to just up and leave, travel wherever you like, but that's not something I can do. My feet belong on solid ground."

He rested his chin on her hip, gazing up at her sadly. She crooked her finger at him and he slid up closer, allowing her to place a gentle kiss on his lips.

"Maybe one day you'll change your mind," he murmured.

"Perhaps," she replied and pulled him to her again.

 

 

 

The next night was surprisingly fair and Rose took the opportunity to step out behind the theater for a cigarette before she dressed for the night's performance and had her nightly talk with John.

A man ambled by, reeking of alcohol and Rose hoped that he wouldn't notice her. Unfortunately he did, as this particular sort was prone to doing. His eyes looked her up and down, making her feel dirty, and he leered at her.

"How much?" he asked in French.

"I'm not for sale," Rose replied, disgusted. "Try up the street."

"But you're here now," he said, stepping towards her.

Rose dropped her cigarette to the ground and turned to tug on the stage door. To her great horror she discovered that the wooden doorstop had fallen out, allowing the door to swing shut and lock.

"Going somewhere, chéri?" the man said, closer to her now. "I'll give you five francs."

"I don't want your money," Rose snapped.

The man stepped right up to her, his face inches from hers, his grimy hands on the sleeves of her dressing gown.

"I'll make it worth your while," he whispered and Rose turned her head away, revolted. His hands moved over her chest, one slipping beneath her gown.

"I said bugger off!" Rose cried in English, pushing the man away from her.

He stumbled back, wide-eyed, and Rose wasn't sure if he was more shocked at her speaking English or the fact that she shoved him, though neither of these mattered as he slapped her hard across the face, knocking her head back against the stage door.

"I don't think you quite understand your place here, you English bitch," he hissed, grabbing a handful of her hair and yanking her head back. She cried out and he hit her again, this time drawing blood.

His hands grabbed at her dressing gown, ripping the thin material as he shoved it aside. His fingers groped at her knickers and she screamed, knowing it was in vain here, where what was happening to her at this very moment was something everyone seemed to notice but nobody ever seemed to care about. She could die in this alley and nobody would even notice until her mother came to look for her.

Tears fell from her eyes as she fought, screaming as he slammed one wrist against the metal door, rendering it useless, and grunting in pain as he shoved her to the pavement.

Quite suddenly a foot flew from out of nowhere, connecting hard with the man's chin and sending him sprawling backward, off of Rose to land unconscious on the dirty alley floor.

Gentle hands pulled Rose to her feet and here was John, holding her trembling body tightly against his, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead. The man who had saved their theater and had now saved her life.

"Come with me, Rose," he whispered. "Run with me."

Rose stared at the man on the ground, realizing how unhappy with her life she really was, how unhappy she'd always been. She'd only wanted to stay for her mother's sake, but surely her mother would understand, surely she'd never wanted this life for her daughter.

"Can you show me the stars?" Rose asked softly, her voice muffled by his shirt.

"I'll teach you their names."

She nodded and looked up at him, smiling through her tears.

"Let's run."

They ran.


End file.
